I remember your hands at the funeral home
So cold and vacant.
Just like your face as you layed there alone.
And the care-taker tried,
he tried so hard.
You were covered in cover-up.
I stood at the foot of your casket and thought-

It's no wonder why she retreated
Just like the veins in your arms
In fear of forming more scar tissue and puncture wounds.

Is it sad to say the things that I remember
the most are your blacked our phone calls?
Oh how you gave up your life.
Your kids and your wife.
All for the needles and pills that you needed so much.

It's alright its OK, we're better off this way.

Its no wonder why I remember your hands at the funeral home
so cold and vacant.
Just like the shadows where you lived alone.
Its no wonder why I wasn't surprised
when the coroner called three weeks later
and told us you over-dosed on methadone.
its no wonder why.